One Rainy Afternoon
by 4b4ndon3d 4ccoun7
Summary: While waiting for America one rainy afternoon, England decides to clean out his attic. He uncovers some good memories and some bad ones, but when America decided to turn all those bad memories into good ones...what then? America/England
1. Chapter 1

**Written for a friend as a request. It took me a total of...oh gosh, how many months to finish..? D| We're talking like six months. Anyway, just a little warning here, they have sex on an American flag in the last chapter, so if that's not your thing, then mozy on outta here. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, not me, don't sue me, I just like watching his characters make out. :3**

* * *

England sighed. The faint sound of thunder echoed throughout the London streets, rain pelting down like bullets out of a machine gun, frightening any pedestrians unfortunate enough to be without an umbrella inside. It wasn't terribly unusual for rain to fall at his house, but today the showers were borderline a torrential downpour, and according to the weather report, it was going to stay like this well into the night, possibly into the morning. He wasn't the type who minded rain, having grown up in a place where the rain was frequent and, normally, he would simply settle down in front of the telly, or read a book while sipping his Prince of Wales, Earl Grey or Darjeeling. It was a bit different today, however, as he was expecting a visitor, who was already forty-five minutes late, and he simply continued to stare out the window, rivers of water running down to pool at the bottom of the pane outside. He had been at this for at least the last half hour, not that he'd ever admit to his 'fashionably late' guest that he was eager enough to see him to do something like that, but so far he hadn't caught sight of a taxi, and he hadn't gotten any calls. He wasn't worried, since nations didn't die at the hands of anything other than fellow nations and severe financial decline so, even through the sheets of water pouring down, if there was an accident, the worse that could happen was his visitor getting a little scratched up.

A faint glow and quiet whispers alerted him that the faeries had decided to check up on him and, after assuring them that he was alright, he stood from his chair, running his fingers through his hair for a brief moment. Well, if America was going to be this late, he might as well go ahead and start cleaning out his attic... He had been avoiding that particular chore for a few years now, almost fearing the memories it would dredge up, but he knew that he had to get it done eventually anyway, and he had already finished his other house chores for the day. He willed himself to move, though he really didn't want to, and he made sure to get himself a glass of cold tea before trudging up the fold-out stairs in a back room to the dust-blanketed attic. Lifting up the small hatch, he climbed up the rest of the way and looked around in distaste. It was a complete mess. Boxes stacked on top of each other came dangerously close to the ceiling, papers scattered the floor giving the almost appearance of carpet, cobwebs and spiderwebs adorned the corners with the illusion of lace... England sneezed. This would be fun...

To his credit, he didn't stall for time as much as he could have; within five minutes he had begrudgingly opened his first box, taking a look inside. Of course, by this point, his tea was gone, but he could always just use that as another excuse to put off the work and go back downstairs. As he pulled out the first item he saw, however, he smiled. It was his old pirate hat... He had kept all of his clothing from different parts of his life, and his old captain's uniform was folded neatly in the box as well, along with his cutlass and a few pieces of eight. His captain's log was tucked in the corner, and as he pulled it out, he began to read.

_"8 April, 1654_

_The Treaty of Westminster was signed today. Yes, the war is finally officially over._

_Witte and George proved to be decent opponents, but Admiral Blake and I fought_

_well and, though I failed to take the title of the dominant nation of trade from_

_that Dutch, I also hid a trap for him that prevented his Prince William III from_

_becoming the stadtholder. I still remember the look on his face when he saw what_

_I had done... It was amazing! I picture it and, even now, a smile comes to my lips._

_Denmark may not have quite lost the war, but I'm going to make sure that he didn't_

_really win it, either. I suppose you might call me a poor loser..."_

His smile grew to a smirk. That's right, he remembered... He had made it so that any imports sent to England had to be sent via English ships, but that whole war had really started because Lieutenant-Admiral Tromp didn't lower his flags in respect to the British vessels. He had won the minor battles, but when things escalated into something a bit more, they eventually ended in a sort of draw. He didn't have very good luck with Denmark, though, and he ended up getting defeated multiple times... But he wasn't going to focus on that. No, he had an entire room of boxes to go through, so he re-placed the journal carefully inside and, marking the box with a marker he had slipped into his pocket, he shoved the box to the side, reaching for another one. This one held a few cassette tapes, some folders with old, miscellaneous pictures in them, small knickknacks, nothing important, and after labeling several other boxes like this, some "trash", some "give away", some just "misc.", he came across a box that was a little bit lighter than the rest. Inside, he found a scrapbook and some children's clothes, a small bottle of maple syrup, a flag, and a pair of old spectacles. Canada's things... Flipping open the scrapbook, unable to resist, he came across the page from when Canada had met America for the first time. America never had been able to pay attention to that boy...

_"America, really, the least you could do is play with the lad!"_

_"Aww, England, I don't want to! I want to play with you instead! You don't visit me much!"_

_England sighed, indicating over to the Canadian, who was beginning to tear up._

_"He's your brother. You'll have to play with him eventually, and you need to get used to him, since France dumped him off on me... You'll be seeing him quite a bit from now on, America."_

_"You're my brother too though! And if I can see him all the time, then I'll just play with him when you're not here!"_

Their first meeting...had been a disaster. England vaguely remembered promising Canada that he would buy him a treat later in making up for America's rude behaviour. They all used to have such good times together... The dirty-blonde smiled, almost sadly. He kind of wondered what had happened to them... He stared at the page for a moment, getting lost in his memories, but another crack of thunder shook him out of his thoughts, and he placed everything back in, labeling that box as well. He was already losing what little motivation he had to clean the room in the first place and, glancing around, the many, many boxes left leaving him a bit downhearted, he spotted one on the other side of the room with a piece of cloth sticking out. Sometimes he thought he was too curious for his own good, and he walked over to that box, having to move another few cardboard containers from atop it. He almost wanted to place them back on though, when he saw what that piece of cloth was... His old military uniform. The red one from America's revolution. He hadn't taken very good care of it after that particular design had been discontinued, since he hated so much the memories attached but, despite his better judgment, he opened the lid with shaking hands. Another journal, some more old military uniforms and a few handguns, a pair of boots and some rags for shining said boots with the polish that was tucked away behind one of the uniforms. He didn't even bother to look inside the journal, which he knew held memories too painful to want to go back to.

Turning his attention back to one of the boxes he took off of the top of the one he had just looked in, he realized just why he hadn't wanted to clean this place out... It was a pile of scrapbooks, more clothes and a smaller box, which held more handguns and ammo, a flag folded neatly in the bottom, and a crude picture drawn in crayon of America and himself standing on top of the world. America had drawn it a long time ago, and had given it to him before he left on one of the ships taking him back to his native land. He told him to keep it in his pocket, and to look at it all the time so he wouldn't forget to come back and visit... Told him to make sure and take over the world soon so that they could live together. America was still too young to understand the concept of countries taking over other countries. He was so small...so innocent...so loving. England sniffled. The dust was so thick, it must have been upsetting his sinuses...

Ignoring the feeling that nagged him to stop, he began to sift through the box, finding a small stuffed bunny hidden in the corner, almost under the flag, and he remembered the time that he first gave it to America. It was the boy's first time sleeping inside, and he missed his woodland friends. England bought him the toy the next day so that he wouldn't feel so lonesome. He skimmed through the scrapbook and he remembered when America had said his name correctly for the first time, at least in his presence, and he was reminded that he hadn't heard that sweet "Engwand" in hundreds of years... He remembered reading America his favourite stories, bringing him samples of new tea flavours to try, playing with him in the warm air of the new land... He remembered the first time he saw America towering over him, when America had continued to sleep with him when scared, even though he was really too old, and he remembered when he had started feeling the most forbidden things for his brother. Each page held a separate memory, and with each memory came different emotions, not all of them pleasant. A few pages had actually been ripped out of the book, something he had done when America had rebelled, and he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He had been so angry and so hurt that he had torn apart some of his best memories... He sniffled again, this time reaching up to rub at his moistened eyes.

"Hey, England? You in here?"

He jumped. He had been so wrapped up in the past that he hadn't even heard the American come in...


	2. Chapter 2

Scrambling around to get America's things back in the box, he hastily shut the lid, tripping over one of the many small boxes with miscellaneous knickknacks littering the floor. Crying out in surprise, he crashed headlong into another pile of cardboard containers, and when he looked up, rubbing at the back of his head, he was greeted by America's smirking face, the man leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. How long had he been standing there..? England's face reddened as America began to walk over.

"You okay?" he questioned, leaning down for a kiss before helping the Englishman to his feet.

"Uh, yeah...thanks. I was just...cleaning out my attic. It's been so long, I forgot what all was in here..."

"Oh. So what were you so anxious to hide before I got in here?"

England froze. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide from the other man, but even so, he was hoping that he wouldn't say anything. It was a little embarrassing, now that they were a couple, to look back at when they had been brothers, especially if they were looking back on it together. Brushing himself off, England sighed, looking around the room at the mess. Might as well go ahead and tell him so they could get on with America's visit...

"I just found some old stuff...from when you were still a colony. I was putting it up so I could greet you, but...it seem you found me before I could."

His smile was weak, though hopefully believable, but when America gave him that look, the one that wondered why he couldn't just tell the whole truth, he cleared his throat, looking everywhere but America's eyes.

"Your eyes are a little red. Have you been crying..?"

"What? N-no! It was-- I just-- The dust--!"

America didn't look convinced, and as he continued to stare at England, the Brit became more and more nervous. He knew that he should be over what had happened by now, and he knew that America got irritated with him when he looked back on the sad things, but he couldn't help it! He didn't expect to find those things so soon, and he hadn't planned on looking through the box anyway! He just...got curious, and paid the price for it. Suddenly, England felt the American's fingers wrap around his wrist, and he found himself being pulled to the back of the room, back to the box where he had America's things stored.

"Ame-? What are you-!?"

"Come on, England. We're going to make some good memories with that stuff."

He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but as America released him, kneeling down to open up the lid, he found it more difficult to focus on the statement, and when America pulled out the stuffed bunny, England smiled at the look of awe on his face. He apparently remembered the rabbit...

"You kept it..." he started, flipping the toy over to look at the back. "I almost forgot about it... Hey, you remember when I tried to introduce it to my other rabbit friends, thinking that it was real, and they practically attacked it?"

The Englishman cracked into a grin.

"You came home screaming, and I had to sew its button eye back on. I remember. I also remember that you didn't go anywhere near those rabbits for a week... You were so cross with them..."

"Hey, it's not funny! I was traumatized into thinking that my new friend had lost his eye!"

Regardless of his words, his mouth was upturned into a cheerful smile, and he dove back into the box, getting some of his children's clothes. Unfolding one of the articles, he held it up, the smile widening.

"It's a sweater-vest. England, these were never in style, even three-hundred years ago. What were you thinking?"

England laughed. Was this what America meant by making good memories..? Suddenly, it made sense. Indicating to his own clothing, (a tan sweater-vest with a white dress shirt underneath, khaki dress pants and a green tie,) he smirked tauntingly.

"Watch what you're saying about my clothing choices, yank. I might just declare war on you."

"Aww, you wouldn't do that! I might break up with you, and you know that you couldn't live without my lovin'."

Now this was more like it. They were laughing together, having fun, and even though they were looking back on the past, America was making it enjoyable. England mentally wondered if he would attempt to brighten up his Revolution... If he could succeed, then England would propose marriage, right there... America kept digging and, pulling out the flag, he looked up into the corner, pointing to the circle of stars that adorned the patch of blue.

"It's outdated." he stated, ignoring the fact that England obviously knew that. "Why didn't you ever get a new one? I could have brought you one..."

That wasn't an easy question to answer... He had never _wanted_ a new flag. If he had gotten a new flag every time America updated it, then he would have gone mad... He looked down, staring at his knees, and sighed.

"I wanted to remember... Thirteen stars, thirteen states, and all of those states were thanks to me. It was the last thing I had to remind me that I was still a part of you somehow. If I would have seen that you had other stars on that flag...it would have broken my heart."

The room fell silent. America's heart twinged, and he lowered the flag to the floor. He had no idea...


	3. Chapter 3

"England...you'll always be a part of me, no matter what. You're the one who made me who I am, you know?"

All he got was a nod. That was no good...

"Hey...I have a New England." he grinned. "That should make you feel better, because I used to have a New France and New Sweden, but that didn't last. At least I gave France the boot, right?"

This time, he got a smile. It was a weak smile, but it was still a smile, and he was going to take it.

"You still have a New Mexico..."

"Well yeah, but... Oh come on, England, I'm trying to cheer you up here!"

"I know," he sighed, "and I appreciate that. I really do. I just wish that I had never opened that bloody box..."

A laugh rang out through the room.

"Hey, what'd the box ever do to you? It's not its fault!"

A different laugh now, and America knew that he had succeeded in cheering the other man up.

"No, it was! It's conspiring against me, I'm certain!"

They continued to chuckle until America reached back in the box again, this time pulling out the journal and, flipping to a page in the middle, America's face went red. England leaned over to see what the big deal was, but after looking at the page, he blinked dumbly.

"What? Why do you look so embarrassed?"

"England, my potty training isn't exactly something that I'd care for you to have just sitting in a book like this!"

"Oh, it's not like anyone else is going to see it, and besides, you were so cute!" he smirked, his only intentions to rile America up. "Look at your tiny little bum..."

"Cut it out, it's not funny!" the sandy-blonde shouted, smacking England's hand away from the picture. "Let's just move on to the next page, I don't like this one!"

The sound of a page flipping accompanied the sight of England's eyes rolling, and when America let out an "aww", he looked down. It was a page with Canada, America and himself, and England recognized it as the day that he had taken the two brothers to the circus. America looked around ten, maybe eleven in human years, and he was digging into a candy apple. They all had big smiles on their faces, and it was clear that they had fun that day.

"Wasn't I adorable? Wait...was that the time that the juggler went up into the audience and tripped over Canada because he couldn't see him!? Oh man, that was so funny! Poor Mattie was traumatized..."

"Well, he almost got knocked in the head with some rather heavy juggling balls, I'd think anyone would. It didn't help that you were laughing so hard you were crying..."

"Oh don't try to make me look like the bad guy, I see the grin on your face."

England lifted his hand to his mouth to, literally, 'wipe away' the smirk. It worked, for the most part. He heard another page flip, and he glanced down to his empty tea glass, almost forgotten beside the first box he opened, but when another page flipped, than another, and another, he allowed himself to look back at the scrapbook. What, America couldn't find anything else worth talking about..? He caught sight of the page, and suddenly, he realized...he was right. America had gotten to the end, and the only pages left were mostly ripped apart, some of the damaged papers having big black marks across them. This couldn't bode well with the American... In fact, trailing his gaze up, England saw a frown on America's face, his brows furrowed into slight confusion.

_'Please don't ask, please don't ask, please don't ask...'_

"England, what's this?"

_'...dammit.'_

He struggled for an answer. He had been upset when he had done that, yes, but would that excuse really tide over the other male? Most definitely not. But there was really no believable explanation except the truth, was there? He had to think fast...

"England..?"

Aaaand, his time was up. He swallowed, saliva hot and thick, and refused to make eye contact. This would not be easy.

"It...it was probably near a week after your rebellion. I had gotten a little bit of alcohol in my system, not really enough to get drunk, but still enough to lower my inhibitions, and I was angry, so...I took out that anger on my memories, I suppose. I was so upset, but...that didn't give me enough reason to do something so uncalled for. I...I'm sorry."

"Hey, it was your scrapbook. But you were really that mad at me... Wow. Aw man, you must have hated me..."

England interrupted.

"No! No, America, I never hated you. I didn't do that out of hate, I did it out of anger. Of course I would be mad at you, I trusted you and loved you, and I felt that you had honestly betrayed me! I was confused and upset, but I never once thought that I hated you! How could I? ...you were my brother."


	4. Chapter 4

To that, America didn't know what to say. England was avoiding eye contact again, and America was certain that his cheer-up plan had effectively failed. It seemed now like everything he said or found ended up making things worse, and they couldn't keep on like that... Rain continued to pelt the window with non-stop force, and another crack of thunder echoed throughout the room. What were they going to do now? Obviously they couldn't just keep looking through that stuff, or else who knows what could happen? America shut the journal and began to put it back. They were quite finished with it.

"Wh-what are you doing..?"

"I'm putting this stuff up. We can't keep doing this. It was okay at first, but...well, it's clear what this stuff does to you, and I'm starting to think that the only way I can save you from it is to keep you away from it... I really tried, but it would be useless to try and save you if all it ended up doing in the long run was hurting you more."

Blinking, England finally turned his attention fully back to America. What was that..? Saving him? Was that what this was all about? Saving him from the past? It was typical of America to try and save _something somewhere,_ but a touching thought, none the less.

"You were trying to save me?"

"Yeah." America replied, turning to face the other blonde. "From your bad memories. I don't want any time we've ever spent together to be remembered in a bad way, England. It shouldn't be that way now that we're lovers, right? I guess I couldn't play hero this time, though... Sorry I got you all upset..."

He reached for the flag, which was still piled between his knees, but England grabbed his hand, making the bespectacled American look up at him. England breathed his name, leaning closer, and before America could realize what had happened, the Briton's lips were on his own, kissing him softly. Confused, America kissed back, but when England pulled away, he saw the very clear confusion in bright blue eyes, and he smiled.

"You really are an idiot. You don't have to do something silly like that. It was a long time ago, it doesn't matter to me anymore what the bad things were like. Do you know why, luv?"

Shaking his head dumbly, America looked no more enlightened than when England first kissed him.

"It doesn't matter because it was in the past! America, poppet, I never look back and wish that things could have been different, because we're perfectly happy _now!_ Do you understand? I was upset when I ripped up those pages, and I was being stubborn when I refused to get another flag, but if you'll remember...that was within a few weeks after your Revolution! I'm almost completely over that now!"

"...you still don't come to my birthday most of the time."

"That's why I said 'almost'."

America's expression morphed to something more resembling thoughtfulness, and his mind began to work in overdrive. Englad really didn't want things to change... He was honestly okay with the way everything had happened. But how? Their past wasn't exactly pleasant after it reached a certain point... But England didn't care..? Because...they were happy being with each other now...and that's all that mattered. America smiled. He finally seemed to have come to his revalation and, the smile still on his face, he leaned over to kiss the Briton again.

"Thanks, England. Really. I do wish that I could've helped though, you looked all sad when I kept pulling stuff out of the box..."

The Englishman shook his head.

"You silly sod, I told you that you don't have to do that."

"But--!"

"No 'but's!" England interrupted, holding up his hand to silence the other man. Reaching down, he picked up one of the scrapbooks and held it up to the American. "Do you know what this is..?" he inquired.

"Is this a trick question..?"

England smiled.

"No, America, it's a legitimate question."

"Oh. Then it's a scrapbook."

"Yes. And do you know what they're for..?"

"Umm...scrapping in..?"

"N-not quite... They hold memories. This one is torn and old, and full of bad memories, but I have another one, you know. One that's much more recent. Do you know what memories that one has in it..?"

"No. Am I supposed to?"

"Well, I never showed it to you, so I suppose not. America, the newest one I've started is...well, it's one for us. More specifically, the time we've spent together as lovers. It's full of happy things, and it makes me smile every time I look through it. There's not one bad memory in the whole thing, and that's what I want you to focus on."

America blinked, surprised. England had something like that..?

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I saw no need to. Scrapbooking is actually...it's kind of my secret hobby. Most people consider it kind of a woman's thing to do, so I like to keep this little hobby private."

At this, America had to laugh.

"England, you embroider! You sip tea with your pinky out! You claim to see unicorns and faeries! I'd say you're pretty girly already, even without the scrapbooking."

Startled, England blushed. He wasn't _that _girly, was he..? Well, it was true that he did all that stuff, but the unicorns and faeries were actually real, and you were _supposed_ to drink tea with your pinky out, weren't you..? Though he _was_ dating another guy, and he blushed a lot, as proven by how red his face was currently... He kind of had mood swings some times, but that was America's fault...but...that didn't really matter, did it..? The red in England's face grew darker at the thoughts, and when the words _'Well, why don't you just stick me in a dress right now..?'_ crossed his mind, he turned away, his whole body stiff.

"Girly, huh..?" he muttered pathetically, and America smiled a bit in sympathy.

"Aww, come on England, I don't care _how_ girly you are!" he blurted out, causing the Brit's form to slump even more. America wrapped his arms around the smaller male, resting his head on that sweatervest-clad shoulder and nuzzling into that British neck. "I mean that I like you no matter what, England. I guess I should have paid more attention when you were teaching me speech way back when, huh..?"

Hesitantly leaning back into his American lover, the Englishman heaved a sigh, turning the scrapbook in his hands. It really was old and worn, wasn't it..? Maybe it really was time to forget about the things that were contained in that book and move on. Not like he hadn't tried that already, but now that America knew about everything, well...maybe he would be able to help him forget, or at least remember them in a better light.

"Hey England, let's get outta here. I think we need to take a break."

"Y-yeah." he agreed. "I need more tea anyway."

America followed his lover's gaze to the cup, long forgotten on the floor, and he chuckle softly, kissing the neck he had nuzzled against. With that, he released the man and picked up the glass for him, indicating to the door with it, and England nodded, exiting the room with America at his heels.


	5. Chapter 5

England yawned as he made his way to the bedroom, a soft swooshing sound following him as the hem of his forest green PJ bottoms drug the ground just slightly (It was so hard to find pants the right length, for some reason.) It had been a long day, and he was ready to just sit back and relax in his room for a while, maybe read a good book or simply daydream until he felt like sleeping. He yawned, running his fingers through his hair before noticing that his door was shut and, tilting his head, the knowledge that he had left it open when running off to the restroom fresh in his mind, he reached for the handle, turning the knob and pushing his door open with a soft "creak". There, on his bed, was America layed out, not on the bedsheets no, but on his own flag- the old one that they found in the attic. England blinked, slowly shutting the door behind him and closing in on the relaxed American, hesitating slightly when the other blonde glanced up at him. When said blonde smiled, however, England continued, stopping only when he was at the edge of the bed.

"America..." he began, glancing a bit nervously at the flag. "...what is this..?"

The American shrugged.

"Well, it's my first night here after the flight. You didn't expect me to just go to bed without having 'welcome' sex, did you?"

England's frown made America laugh loudly, but when England rolled his eyes, America's laughter turned into a gentle smile.

"Of course you would be after that. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you're worse off than France."

America laughed again.

"Nah, no way am I worse than him. He screws everyone, I only want to screw you. I just like screwing you a lot. Besides, it's been months since we did anything like that, since I've been back in my own country and you've been here! I wanted to do it to distract you from all the sad stuff when we were looking through your attic, but in the end, I held myself back. I think I deserve a reward for my patience!"

The pout on America's face was absolutely adorable, England had to admit, and he allowed a slight smile to cross his own features until he realized that there was one little thing bothering him...

"So why do you have the flag..?"

"Hmm? Oh! Well, I wanted to give you at least one good memory for at least one of those things, and so I just kind of thought that we could maybe have sex on it, or something. I don't want you to be sad for even a second when thinking of my flag, even this version of it, so...yeah!"

And for a moment, England just stared at America, blinking, wondering if he heard the man correctly. There was a few moment's silence as this went on, England genuinely having no earthly idea what to say about it, but right around the fifteen second mark, America arched a brow and spoke.

"So? Come on, England, the most we did today was kiss, and we didn't even use tongue! I want to do something..."

"A...America..." the Brit finally managed, placing his head in his palm. "...not with the flag..."

America's following whine was hardly befitting of the superpowered nation...

"What? Why!?"

"Because it's just...weird! You had that flag when you were still my colony, if I were to keep my mind on that fact when we were having sex, then that would put very strange images in my head!"

"But it's for cheering you up!"

"It's desecration..."

"Wha-? Dese--? No it's not!"

"We're having sex on your flag. Of course--"

"We are? You give in then?"

The grin on the boy's face was almost enough to make England actually conisder doing just that...

"No."

...almost.

"I was _saying,_ that 'we're having sex on your flag. Of course it's desecration.' It's defiling one of your national symbols."

"But I don't even use this design anymore. Its not a national symbol, it's old!"

"It's a part of your history! It still represents you!"

"If it represents me, then does that mean that we'll be having sex on top of me..?"

Frowning, England kept silent, waiting until America replied with an "I was just kidding, geez!" before folding his arms.

"Don't you think it would be strange, besides, to do something like that? Especially to your own flag..?"

"I told you, I don't use it anymore! It's not really my flag now!"

England had opened his mouth to protest, but the only sound that came from his throat was a surprised shout as America reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him down onto the bed. Shit. He was serious, wasn't he..? Before England could think too hard on that matter, America had swapped their positions, placing the Briton beneath him, and already undoing the buttons on the silky night shirt.

"W-wait a moment!" cried England, quickly gripping America's wrists to still him. "Not so fast, we haven't even talked about this properly!"

"England, we've talked about it! It hasn't really been my flag since 1795 when I added stars for Vermont and Kentucky, it's outdated, it doesn't represent me anymore, and I want to give you a good memory to go with it, even if you don't want me to!"

"B-but, America, th-this...it...it's _desecration!!!_"

"But England, technically it _was my_ flag, even if it's not really anymore, and can you really desecrate your own flag? Besides, I _want_ to do this!"

Sighing in frustration, England couldn't help but glare slightly at the younger nation. He was completely missing the point, it was easy to see, but the boy continued to persist anyway, and he probably would until he got his way... Still, the Briton couldn't help but think that maybe, just _maybe,_ this would be the one time where he would actually win... That tiny sliver of hope was enough to drive him on, and as America tried again to unbutton the night shirt, to finish what he started, England pushed at him, urging him to stop. There was a short struggle, but he allowed himself to look into America's pure blue eyes, and what he saw reflected in them made him pause. America looked...a little bit sad, maybe..? What could be wrong..? He didn't want to do this that badly, did he..?

"England..." he started, his voice slow and soft. "Please...let me do this."

There was hesitation, no doubt about that, but after a few seconds of apparent consideration, the English nation backed off, allowing the American to do as he pleased. A slight smile upturned on the sandy-blonde's face, and England swallowed. There was obviously some deeper meaning to this than America was letting on, but he apparently didn't feel like sharing at the moment...

"Thanks."

And with only a single nod as his response, England subjected himself to the bespectacled nation, feeling the slight tickle of fingers against his skin as the buttons were finally finished off, the caress of the fabric as it was pulled gently off of his shoulders, the slightly rough hands sliding down and over his chest to feel him again, to get reaquainted with his body since he had been gone for so long. The gentle touches felt nice, relaxing even, and England let a sigh pass through his lips, this one much more content than the others he had released that day. America's touches could be considered almost sensual rather than passionate, and that suited England just fine. So his American lover was in a romantic kind of mood...who was he to complain..? He actually really liked the more romantic situations, as an in-the-closet romanticist, and he slid his eyes shut when America's hands went up to his cheeks, holding his face still as he leaned in, lips barely brushing against England's at first as if making sure it would be okay before pressing down more fully. America's lips moved against his own in soft circles, gentle but forceful, all at the same time, and England lifted his arms to go around his lover's neck, encouraging him to kiss harder. In turn, America easily slipped his tongue into the Briton's mouth, met with no resistance, and they began a playful battle, teasing each other with the way they would slide their tongues against the other, and then pull back, running away from their partner before attacking again. The soft smacking of their actions rang throughout the room in its silence, though neither of them paid any mind to it, and when they finally had to pull back for air, they didn't let themselves separate for long before going back for more.

England kept one arm situated in its arc around America's muscular neck while he slid his other hand down and over, rubbing it over the other male's bare shoulder and arm, as he had already been dressed for bed, and he only slept in a pair of sweatpants. He felt the muscle of the superpower's arm shift under his touch as he himself reached down to fondle the Briton's stomach, slowly moving down to pull slightly at the stretchy hem of the sleep pants that England wore, sliding his hand just barely inside to tease at the skin there without actually touching anything. England's breath hitched just the tiniest bit, and America took that as a cue to continue, breaking their kiss and sitting up, reaching down to pull off those deep green sleep pants and toss them off of the bed carelessly. Without waiting for England's response, he dove his head down, kissing the pale, smooth, slightly scarred skin of his Anglo lover's stomach, then lower, lower, until he reached the bellybutton, spending extra time there to press his tongue into the sensitive dip before moving on. He kissed around to the Brit's hip, then down his outter thigh until he decided to go back up, his lips teasing the skin of the inner thigh this time. England shivered slightly, curling his fingers just a bit into the- he swallowed- into the flag. What was he doing..? Was he really going to allow the American his little whim..?

"Hmph." said American chuckled. "You're not very hard...what's the matter? Not in the mood for it..?"

"Sh-shut up! It's not that, it's just...y-you haven't done anything to _make_ me hard yet!"

"I know, relax, Iggy! I was just teasing... Geez!"

Without another word, America took a long lick up the Englishman's half-hard cock, drinking in the soft cry he heard as if it were expensive wine. He felt it twitch under his ministrations, and after feeling the Englishman shift, he took another lick, this time swirling his tongue around the head until the length was erect to his liking. He then began to take the organ into his mouth, swallowing as much as he could until he could taste the bitterness of the precum on the back of his toungue. It was a taste he never quite liked, but he didn't quite hate it either, and he wasn't going to stop giving England oral just because he didn't really like the bitterness...

England arched his back slightly, moaning his lover's name into the room, and when America hummed, sending sound waves vibrating into his cock, he shivered, clenching his fists even harder into the aged material of the old American flag. His mind had begun to lose focus, however, as the taller blonde began to bob his head, sending arousal pulsing through his veins, the lovelust clouding his normal senses, and he soon forgot that the flag was even there. America's lips and tongue moved over the Englishman's dick, pressing at the vein on the bottom and carefully avoiding using teeth, not wanting to risk hurting him. Bucking just the smallest bit having lost some of his willpower, England felt himself coming close, so close to climax, but America seemed to be able to sense that, and he pulled back, but not before taking just a single moment to suck softly at the head of the cock, not enough to hurt, but just to put pressure on it. England moaned, arching up to feel more, but it was too late, and America had already gone back up, kissing at his chest and collarbone, dragging his tongue along the sternum and nipping before shifting his attention to the right nipple. He circled the pert nub with his tongue, humming in aproval at the sounds that England made, and once the submissive moaned out the his name, he traded sides, giving the other nipple attention as well. England seemed to be taking the attention well, having apparently forgotten about the flag by now, and as America suckled and licked at the erect nub, he ground his hips into his lover's just once, moaning as he felt the body below his jerk forward in a wordless, aroused request. Finally pulling back, the bespectacled male licked his lips, reaching into the nightstand drawer to grab the lubricant that England always kept there, but when he glanced back at his prior caretaker, he questioned;

"Do you want me to use a condom or no..?"

"Nnh..? Oh. I-it doesn't matter..." England responded, slightly out of breath from the superpower's antics just seconds earlier. "Either way is fine."

Nodding, the American closed the drawer, quickly spreading some of the slick liquid onto his fingers, noticing the look of wanton desire mixed with love reflecting in the Briton's green eyes. They were so beautiful... Just a few hours before, they were showing sadness and pain, and only minutes before, they were revealing apprehention and concern, but now... America smiled. He always had loved the faces England would show during intercourse. They were so open and free of all of the stress and worry that naturally came with being a Nation, and America simply adored that England would show that side to him. It was nice knowing that he could take the Briton's concerns away, if even for only a short while, and that, coupled with the knowledge that England loved him more than anything else in the world...it made him happy. Leaning back over his Anglo lover, he placed their lips together before reaching down and urging his legs apart with his fingers, finding England's entrance and prodding at it before slipping in his ring finger up to the first knuckle. England grunted into the kiss, but the two men had done this so much by now that England didn't really need much preparation anymore, and America was soon adding his middle finger in with the first. That was when he was met with resistance, however, and when he felt England press their lips together tighter, whimpering just slightly, he pulled back, giving the man room to breathe. He went slower this time, pushing his fingers in more and then pulling them back out, slowly, slowly, until England was letting out quick puffs of air, not quite moans, but still quiet sounds of pleasure. He began to scissor his fingers, pressing them in deep, and as he shifted them down a bit, he was suddenly very aware of England's arms flying around his neck, pulling him close, the Englishman crying out in his ear. America shivered, licking his lips at the thought of what he'd just found, and as he pressed into it again, preparing to add his third finger, his lover arched up, gasping out a breathy "please".

It was music to the American nation's ears, and so he made haste in adding the last digit, slipping it in with little problem and moving it around, curling all three slightly to rub against the soft walls of England's entrance. The Briton's breath began to quicken again, though he somehow seemed calm as well, and as America observed these expressions, each one flitting away so swiftly that one would _have_ to be paying attention to notice them all, he retrieved his fingers, reaching again for the lubricant. Huh. The bottle was nearly empty... They would need more soon... Spreading a little onto his cock, not wanting to use up too much of what little they had left, he allowed himself to sit back for a moment, examining England again. His body had a soft shine to it where the light was reflecting off of the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his skin, and his hair was even more toussled than usual... His eyes shown with love as well as desire, and his cheeks were brilliantly flushed, his mouth slightly agape so that he could intake enough air. He was truly beautiful, at least America thought, and he unconsciously muttered this as he moved back over to position himself.

"Th-thank you..." America thought he heard, but it was so quiet that he couldn't be certain, and as he reached over to clasp his hands with the Briton's, England's legs having been thrown over his shoulders, he pushed in, grunting softly until he was buried to the hilt. He sat still, giving his British lover time to adjust, but soon he was ready to move again, and he didn't need much encouragement to do it. A simple nod from England and he was pulling out, dipping down to kiss at the man's neck. It felt great, feeling the heat around him, and he was certain that he could only ever feel this way with the being currently under him. They loved each other so much, and even if he _could_ bring himself to have sex with another, he knew that it wouldn't be as satisfying, and perhaps even unenjoyable. He continued to push in, then pull out, his subtle motions soon becoming a fast pace, and England's aroused sighs quickened with the movements, his breaths becoming grunts, then moans, and eventually sharp cries. The two moved together, the embodiment of the Uninted Kingdom arching up into each thrust, and the sounds of their love making echoed throughout the room, pressure mounting in their bodies as the friction increased between them. Between gasps of "I love you" and passionate kisses, the two continued to pant, moaning each other's names so lovingly and needily, until they just couldn't take it anymore. England came first, clinging to America's shoulders tightly as he did, riding ou his orgasm with a sharp cry of exctacy. It wasn't long before America himself came, feeling England clench and unclench around him, a spasm that the sandy-blonde was never quite used to but that always felt so good, and he bit down on the Briton's trapezius as he filled him, sucking sharply to keep from shouting. They both fell limp, breath heavy and bodies soaked with the sweat that had come from their excercise, and when America finally pulled back, he spotted the little love mark he had made on England's neck, and he smirked. He was probably going to be fussed at for that later... Deciding not to worry about that, however, he pulled out, placing a quick lick to the injured area, kissing the Brit one last, long time before laying himself down beside him. They lay there in perfect, harmonious silence for a while, each catching his breath before America spoke, his voice quiet and soft.

"So..." he began, smiling slightly. "...try picturing my old flag _now._"

England squinted at him for a brief moment, trying to think about what he meant, but once he remembered, his eyes widened, and his face returned to its searing red colour. The flag... The _flag!!!_ He had completely forgotten!!! Oh, he truly was never going to be able to think of it again, but...but maybe...it wasn't so bad. After all, he really did love America now. What they did wasn't so bad, and it really did give him something new to think about when he saw the flag... Oh, who was he kidding, this was never going to work.

"What do you see..?"

"I see....I see us on a muddy battle field, fucking." he finally managed, placing his face in his palm. "All I did was combine the two images."

"Oh. Well.....are we at least happy with each other on the field..? I mean, you're not...c-crying are you..?"

"Well...no...b-but--"

"Then it worked?"

"I-I don't know! It...it was a nice thought, and...and you didn't make it _worse_...so..."

America sighed.

"I guess that's good enough for now."

"Wha--? For now..?"

"Yeah! We'll try again tomorrow, and the next day and the next, until all you can think of after seeing that flag is how much you want me in bed!"

Blushing furiously, England tried to reach out and hit his idiotic lover, but he was still a bit sluggish from intercourse, and he was very tired... He always got that way after sex, and tonight was no exception.

"Ooh, or better yet, you'll never be able to think of my flag again without getting unbearably horny! How's that..?"

"G-go to bed!!!! I knew it! You're just as bad as France!"

The American laughed, leaning in to kiss England on the tip of the nose. Damn yankee... He wasn't even trying to take this seriously anymore...

"Aww, come on England, you don't really think that... Anyway, we really are going to do this again tomorrow, so...wash the flag before then, got it?"

"I-I know that! I will!"

"And while you do that, I'll go out and buy more lubrication. We're almost out..."

"Go on then... And get the self-warming stuff this time, your hands are always cold when you try to shove your fingers up my arse!"

More laughing, courtesy of America.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. The usual brand..?"

"Y-yes."

"Alright. Well, I know how you get after sex, so...you should probably go on to bed now. I can see your eyes trying to close on you..."

"Yeah. Thanks. I...I appreciate you trying to cheer me up like this... Even if it doesn't seem like it..."

"Any time, Iggy! Love you."

"I...I l-love you t-too."

"Goodnight."

"Night..."

And with those last few words, they slipped into a dreamless slumber, and what England failed to tell America, was that for the first time since he had last found that flag, he had a peaceful, calming, restful night's sleep. And he had his American lover to thank for it.


End file.
